


Flashpoint

by monimala



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Femdom, Light BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 12:05:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12794193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monimala/pseuds/monimala
Summary: Dinah gives Frank what he needs.This is not the worst thing she's ever done. This is not the worst man she's ever done.This one is totally for Charlotte Stein.





	Flashpoint

A normal person would toast to the downfall of Billy Russo. Finish off the bottle and kill two more. A normal person might throw the shit he left behind in their apartment into an oil drum on the pier and set it on fire. They are not normal people. They burn each other instead. They fuck two months after she gets out of the hospital. An angry, nasty, desperate coupling that begins and ends before they can even say "hello."

Dinah doesn't know how he got in. Doesn't care how he got in. Frank Castle is not the kind of man you bring home, but he's already met her parents under the worst circumstances, already bled on their sheets. And he's enough of a pro to pick a night when her only company is a half-empty bottle of Maker's Mark. It's _haram_. He's _haram_. She really doesn't give a shit. Not when he's flush against her back, pressing her against the wall of her mother and father's fancy uptown digs. That big broken nose in her hair. His lips tracing the scar of her bullet wound. His cock still hard inside her. They're tangled up in their clothes, in jeans around knees and underwear shoved down just enough to provide access. 

This is not the worst thing she's ever done. This is not the worst man she's ever done. Dinah feels every ragged breath he takes. Every thump of his heart. They're scenting each other like two wounded animals. Assessing threat. But Frank's fingers are gentle when he steadies her hips and slips out of her, when he spins her around to face him. She knows what he's done with them. Saw the footage. Read the reports. He beat Rawlins to death with these same hands. Smashed Billy's face into the carousel mirror over and over. And he carried her out of a burning car. He held her, dying, in his lap, as the squad cars converged. She doesn't remember that, but it was in the girl's statement. _"I don't care what he did to that man. He saved our lives."_

He saved her life. She gave him a new one. They should be even. But some debts are never square. He wants more from her. She wants to give it to him. 

"Madani." It's absurd that, after everything, after all the blood, after the come dripping down her thighs, they aren't on a first-name basis. But the sandpaper growl of three syllables against her neck is as intimate as any lover's endearment. No, it's more. Because he chases it with, "I need..." Rough. Barely audible. "Madani, I need..."

"What, Castle?" She touches his face. His broad, unkind, face. There is no part of him that isn't carved from stone. "What is it?" 

"Pin me down," he says, thickly. "Pin me down and fuck me up." 

Most men can't get her off with an hour of foreplay. Frank Castle makes her come with seven words. Her legs tremble with it. She cants into him. Needing purchase as desperately as he needs her control. He holds her through it, whispering "Easy, easy," into her hair. And then he lets her lead him to bed. 

He leaves his clothes in a pile by the nightstand. Bunks down with his arms crossed behind his head. There is nothing cocky about the pose. Nothing proud. This is a man who knows he is a tool, a weapon. He's not showing off. He's simply waiting. He carried her to safety...now it's her turn to carry him, to take on his burdens for a while.  
  
When she straddles him, closing her knees on either side of his head, he's ready for it. Hungry for it. His gently brutal fingers sink into the flesh of her ass, holding her in place as he licks her, sucks her, drinks up their mingled essences. He feasts on her like he hasn't eaten for weeks, and she has to cling to the headboard for the duration of the meal. Grinding down on his face. Demanding his tongue. Relishing the nip of his teeth against her clit. She rides him to one orgasm and then two. And only then does she turn her attention to his beautiful disaster of a body. To the no doubt painful, red-tipped, erection bouncing against his stomach. But Frank Castle is used to pain, used to torture. _This is nothing_ , he assures her with his coal-dark eyes.

_Then you're not fucked up enough_ , she tells him with a slap to his side. Her palm lands against a relatively new stab wound. He hisses, jerking upward. It can't be helped. There are few places on Castle's skin that aren't marked with violence. And his lips, his chin, his cheeks...they're all marked with her. Glistening with it.  
  
Dinah keeps one knee on the center of his chest as she stretches to the night table and rummages in the drawer for condoms. One frantic time unprotected is excusable. A repeat would just be stupid, and neither of them is stupid. Reckless, yes. Twisted, yes. But not stupid. She takes her time sliding down his body, sheathing his straining cock, fisting the base of him and squeezing his heavy balls as she unrolls the latex. He doesn't beg. He barely makes a sound. Just gasps and grunts, needy sounds that come unbidden from his throat as she engulfs him inch by inch. He's big. Thick. Fucking him like this is no easy feat. She braces her palms against his abs, rocking slowly until he's seated all the way inside her.  
  
He flinches. Shudders.  
  
"You okay, Castle?"  
  
"Yeah." She watches him swallow, mesmerized by the bob of his Adam's apple. By how his tongue flicks out to wet his lips. "Don't be nice to me now, Madani."  
  
It's not odd that such a volatile, dangerous, man demands cruelty from her. Dinah has a pretty good handle on that particular kink. It's her wheelhouse. What's odd is that she wants to be kind in return. To kiss Frank's brow and the bump on the bridge of his nose. She tamps down the impulse, rolling her hips, digging her nails into his thighs, making it mean and selfish. Using him for her own pleasure and pain like a toy. It's good. It's so fucking good this way. The hard slap of their pelvises together. The rough slide of his cock. Hurting him. Hurting her. She leans forward, forming a chain around his neck with her fingers, thumb pressing down on his pulse. His pupils dilate, the air catches in his lungs. But he doesn't move his arms from beneath his head. He doesn't buck her free. He takes it. He wants it. He needs it. The Punisher punished.  
  
She makes him go three and a half minutes without air. She doesn't let him come for twenty-eight minutes after that. When he does, it's like he shoots forever, unloading years and years of pent-up come and anguish with a harsh groan. They're both drenched in sweat, both out of their minds. She's left crescent-shaped nail cuts all over his torso, bitten furrows into his shoulders.  
  
"Thank you," he rasps out, scraping her skin raw with the gravel of those two quiet words.  
  
She doesn't say he's welcome. Instead, she frees his hands, one by one, from the self-imposed prison of his skull and massages the life back into his cramped fingers. Then she pinches off the condom, disposes of it in the en suite and brings back a warm washcloth to wipe him clean.She presses her lips to his temple, his cheekbone and his jaw. She gives in to the temptation to kiss his nose. Maybe it's the meanest thing she's done to him yet, because his eyelids flutter shut and he whimpers.  
  
"Any time, Castle," she tells him. "Any time you need this, you come to me."  
  
A normal person would toast to the downfall of Billy Russo. Finish off the bottle and kill two more. A normal person might throw the shit he left behind in their apartment into an oil drum on the pier and set it on fire. They are not normal people. They burn each other instead.  
  
And then they rise from the ashes.

 

\--end--


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